


The Remorseful Cold

by Barcardivodka



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have taken better care</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Remorseful Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> Just finished a bit of an epic fic, with two more lengthy WIPs waiting in the wings and wanted to write one of my usual short "snapshots".This is my first in the Lewis fandom.

Lewis abandoned all pretence of working on the paperwork that littered his desk and looked directly at his sergeant with a puzzled frown.

Hathaway had been suffering through a nasty cold for nearly two weeks and Lewis swore he could hear the lad’s chest rattle with each breath he took. Robbie watched baffled as Hathaway, rubbing wearily at his forehead, continued to empty out his pockets, a clean handkerchief, lighter, Swiss army knife, a length of twine and smelling salts were all neatly placed on the desk, followed by a mobile phone, warrant card, notebook, cuffs, and a small Phillips head screwdriver. Robbie wondered for a moment if his fastidious sergeant had little pouches sewn into his pockets, keeping the contents tidily in place and easily to hand.

In truth, Hathaway had started to worry Lewis; it wasn’t what he was doing now that concerned Lewis, although it was slightly out of Hathaway’s general pattern of behaviour, it was the damn cold that troubled him.

It had started as every cold does, with a cough and a runny nose, but instead of running its course it had grown worse. Hathaway’s red sore nose was no longer a source of a kind hearted jest; the annoying wheeze had turned into a breath denying gasping cough, only satisfied with the ejection of, seemingly, copious amounts of phlegm, straining lungs rewarded with precious air.

Robbie pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up, walking the few paces to stand in front of Hathaway’s desk and crouch down, putting himself at eye level with the oblivious man.

“James, what are you looking for?” Robbie asked gently, his hand covering Hathaway’s as James placed a packet of Lockets on the desk, causing him to look up with a startled snuffle.

“Sir?” he queried hoarsely.

“What are you looking for?” Robbie repeated lightly.

Hathaway dropped his gaze to look at the contents on the desk. “My phone, sir, I had it this morning,” he all but whispered out, his sore throat already protesting the continued use of his voice.

Lewis moved his hand from Hathaway’s and picked up the mobile phone from the desk.

“It’s here,” he said gently, placing it into Hathaway’s hand.

When the cold had worsened, Lewis had managed to keep Hathaway in the office, although the work James was doing was more suited to a constable it kept him in the warm and dry and doing nothing more strenuous than exercising his intelligence.

James had ignored every request to go home and stay there until he felt better, consistently answering every demand with an “I’m fine”. Even Chief Superintendent Innocent’s almost, but not quite an order was answered with a croaked out, “When we’ve caught him, ma’am.”

And that was the problem; they were in the middle of a triple murder inquiry and whatever else James Hathaway may be, he was first and foremost a dedicated copper. Nothing would stop him from helping to find the killer, certainly not a cold, no matter how bad it was. But it was obvious that Hathaway had now used up every ounce of reserve he had, his body worn out and even that clever brain fogged over with exhaustion.

“Come on, lad,” Robbie said gently, “time for you to see a doctor, eh? Need you at full strength if we’re going to figure this case out,” Robbie soothed as he walked around the desk and helped Hathaway up, guiding the frighteningly compliant man to the door.

Hathaway would undoubtedly see this as a failure when fatigue and fever no longer weighed him down, feeling guilty that he had succumbed to illness an unable to do his duty. Right now though, it was Lewis that felt guilty. Remorseful that he had allowed his bagman, his friend, to work himself to such a state. Lewis should have stepped in long ago, overridden his sergeants objections, Robbie should have taken better care of him.

Better late than never, wasn’t it?


End file.
